Author: chaskemp

A bunch of names (Vietnam Veterans Memorial)

My friend, George Schools (who fought on Grenada), sent me this from his blog, My Name is Schools. Deeply touched barely touches my internal response. Thank you, George. (I added captions to George’s photos).

A BUNCH OF NAMES

Dear Charles,

The war is over

I hesitated to send you this, but you’ve written about your experiences in Vietnam, and talked specifically about Dwight Laws (KIA 10/30/66), Lurch Donohue (KIA 03/01/67), and Jerry Georges (KIA 03/23/67) in your blog http://ckjournal.com/first-post-vietnam. I’ve read these posts uncounted times, and I probably will continue to until I die.  Everybody should.  Still, they are your memories, and that is your life, and I didn’t want to overstep the bounds.

I just returned from a family vacation to Washington, DC.  You know my family, and you know me pretty well, I think, so you know that means that when we’d seen all the sights their patience could contain, I went off on my own.  I didn’t know if you’d ever been to DC and the Vietnam Memorial, or if that was something that even interested you.  In fact, I wondered if perhaps that was something you had decided you did not want to do.  So here’s the part where I tell you to just delete all this right now, and tell me to erase it all from my hard drive if you want.  I’m totally ok with that.  They are your memories, and that is your life.

So from this point on, here’s what happened:  I knew I wanted to visit the Wall.  I knew I wanted to find the names of Dwight Laws, Lurch Donohue, and Jerry Georges and send them to you.  And I knew I needed to be there alone, even though I never knew them, the war was over two years before I graduated high school, and they were just names to me.  Three names among 58,307 names of dead Americans.  But I was thinking I could find the names of these people who are very real to you, and you are very real and alive to me, and that would help me understand what I was looking at.

Dwight Laws (whose wife’s name was Barbara Laws)

Like my own Greek chorus, as I’m scanning panel 11E130 for Dwight’s name, a family passes by and a kid says “it’s just a bunch of names!” There’s a Vietnam vet volunteer there explaining the war and the wall and the names to people, and I hear him say loudly enough for me to hear a couple of times “just ask if you need any help,” but I didn’t want any help.  And I finally figured out how to find Dwight’s name, and here it is:

After that, it was pretty easy to find Lurch’s name (which was actually Francis, so now we know why your friend went by “Lurch”), and finally Jerry Georges .

And as I’m looking at all these

Lurch Donohue

names, and trying very hard to think about Dwight, and Lurch, and Jerry, I still wasn’t making the connection I’d hoped.  It was still just a bunch of names:  fifty-eight thousand, three hundred and seven names of dead Americans.  And then it occurred to me that your name was not on that wall.  There was no Charles Kemp.  It could have been, probably should have been, but it wasn’t there.  And I knew you, very real and alive to me, and Dwight, Lurch, and Jerry were not.

Jerry Georges (from Santa Barbara, California)

Charles Kemp, father to David, husband and companion, neighbor, citizen. Very real.  Thank you for making the Wall so real to me by being alive.

_________

To George’s post, I added:

And now the war is over.

The main Vietnam War posts.

 

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Spiritual care at the end of life and across religions and cultures

Here is what two of my community health students wrote re connecting across religions (Christianity and Islam) and cultures (Western and East African) with a young woman dying from breast cancer. This is from about 10 years ago – all names changed. The students worked in two-person teams. The below words are one of the high points of my career.

Big Sur sunset

Margaret: “I think we were able to form/recognize a spiritual connection this week.  Lucy was sitting on something that looked like a blanket, and I asked Nabila what it was – she told me they were their prayer mats.  So, we started talking about prayer – how we pray, things we pray for – and then, there was a warm pause – not an awkward, uncomfortable silence, but one that communicated something.  I smiled and was comforted that Maryam and Nabila have this source of power and encouragement.  I like to think that we pray to the same God.  Even though we may sometimes pray and practice in different ways, we are still able to share our burdens and find peace in a spiritual being – what a comfort to know that Maryam and Nabila can experience this.

They have changed my life…really…this is one of the first times that I have really formed a relationship with a hurting person, who is not in my usual circle…  This habit, this choice (to choose to love people in this way) can be a part of my daily life – a reality that I want so badly.  And, I have been blessed.  I think about them all the time, and hope that I will not just think but do.”

Lucy: “This week with Maryam was very emotional and deep.  On Wednesday we were able to really talk to her about how discovering she had cancer made her feel.  She actually almost started to cry and it took all I had to hold back the tears.  It’s amazing how much she is opening up to us as we spend more time with her.  I am so glad that we got an opportunity to talk about important issues like what she expects out of life these next few weeks…  I didn’t feel it was the right time to attempt to explain the path of her cancer and that it will lead to death.  I think everyone has the right to embrace illness and death at their own pace and I think Maryam will come to that in time.  So Wednesday was a very emotional day for me because we talked about the “valley of the shadow of death” and that is never easy.  Thursday was a much easier day and we talked about some fun things.  I am amazed at how universal conversations are for women and how much fun it is sitting with Maryam, Nabila, and Margaret laughing and sharing our lives together.”

Near La Honda – looking down on the fog

 

Morning fog, Denver Airport, Bolinas, waking, sunset

When it’s not too cold, we leave both bedroom doors open – “two door nights.” There are no screens, and it’s a very nice way to sleep, with San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge sparkling 10 miles away.

Golden Gate from the deck (January sunset)

Daytime view from the bed

Last night was another two door night with the outside coming in to the bedroom, into the temple, through the doors, into the room and the bed and the outside and in the morning, thick fog between the trees and just past the deck railing, and the filtered light somehow so pure on the railing I had to rub my eyes – am I really seeing this – and the fog drifting three-dimensionally across the deck and the curtains stirring and the fog is in the room and we’re naked in the warm bed together.

——

At Bolinas Museum with one of Jean’s pieces

You flew to Denver from San Francisco and I flew to Denver from Dallas. I got on the shuttle bus at the Denver Airport and… there you were! It’s going to be a good trip – and it was!

———

Last week we drove from Berkeley to Bolinas for an opening at the Bolinas Museum – Art We Wear: Culture and Expression 1960s to Now. More northern California magic… windy roads through redwood forests, the Pacific rolling endlessly along. The opening was good, Jean’s work was presented well, and there were friends and colleagues from the Bay Area, as well as many other people.

David Kemp, Jean Cacicedo, and a photo of Charles Kemp (at restaurant in Castro)

———

We were sleeping, with our faces inches apart. We awoke and opened our eyes at the same moment. Oh!

———

Candy texted Jean to urge us to go out to the deck for a great sunset.

 

Chocolate chip cookies – more secrets revealed!

Here is another update in the never-ending quest for great chocolate chip cookies.

Basic concepts:

  • Use more chocolate chunks (I like Scharffen Berger) than most recipes call for, e.g., the original Toll House recipe calls for 12 oz chocolate; I use 16-18 oz semi-sweet chocolate (other types of chocolate make for chocolatey fingers – though a piece of 70% on top of each cookie is a nice detail).
  • Toast the pecans before adding them to the dough (let pecans cool before adding).
  • Cookies should be formed, including flattening them and laid out on Saran wrap and frozen in units of 10-12. At least you should refrigerate for 2 or more hours. This recipe makes 22-24 cookies.
  • Preheat oven AND cookie sheet. A cast iron cookie sheet or a baking stone is probably better. The main point is the cooking surface is hot through and through when cookies hit the surface so that some degree of glaze occurs on the bottom surface of the cookies.
  • The latest truly hot tip: At 5 minutes of baking, take out the tray and bang it down firmly twice on the stovetop). This flattens the cookies somewhat. Do it again at 10 minutes. Total bake time is about 16 minutes. The end result of this and other steps is a cookie that’s crisp at the edges and chewy in the center and with a bit of glaze on the bottom. OH YEAH!

(Baking times are close to exact, but there is variation among ovens.)

2 C all-purpose flour minus about 2 T of flour

½ tsp baking soda

½ t salt

¼ C dried finely shredded coconut

¾ C unsalted butter melted and cooled (European style butter gives an even better taste)

1 C brown sugar packed (I use slightly less)

½ C white sugar (I use slightly less)

1 large egg+ 1 egg yolk at room temp

1 T vanilla

16+ oz semisweet chocolate chunks.

1.5 C lightly toasted pecan pieces or halves

—————-

Preheat and baking surface to 325

Whisk 1st 4 dry ingredients and set aside

Beat butter (in a large bowl) and sugars until light and fluffy

Add eggs and vanilla, beat smooth

Mix in dry ingredients

Mix in chocolate and nuts

Form cookies and freeze – you should have 22-24 cookies

—————-

Place frozen cookies (quickly) on hot baking surface. Bake 14-15 minutes for soft and chewy or 17-18 for crisp. This recipe does not produce very brown cookies in my oven.

First post: Vietnam

At the DMZ – with 1/9, “The Walking Dead”

This post (a repost of part of my first web page, 2007) marks the transition from blogspot to my own web address (ckjournal.com). Thanks David!

American Dream…

To Dwight Laws, KIA 10/30/66 inside the company perimeter near Hill 55
To Lurch Donohue, KIA 3/1/67 in a deserted ville near Route 4
To Jerry Georges, KIA 3/23/67 at the Hill 55 bridge

They were good men. We were young. They could have lived a long time.

Photo: me, Mike Noumov, Jeff Wiseman at the rear on Hill 55 on my return (bearing gifts) from R&R. Over and over again we were playing the Byrds album with Turn! Turn! Turn! on it – “a time to be born, a time to die; a time to kill, a time to heal; a time to laugh, a time to weep; a time for peace, I swear it’s not too late.” Do you think that wasn’t blowing our minds? (4 of the first 5 photos are mine; the rest by someone else; all are taken at places/battles I was in.)

Here is the whole story of how Donohue was killed. For the first 10 or so years after I came home, there was never a day that I didn’t run this through my mind at least once – like some kind of video. I gave my compulsive rumination a name: How Donohue Got It. Then in 1978 I spent a week in a retreat with Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, Stephen Levine, and others. That was the first time I told this aloud. The second time was with my brother, Jeff (who identified Donohue’s body back at battalion). I seldom think of this now.

We were on patrol north of the bend in Route 4, the dirt road that went by C Company’s

My gun at the DMZ. Ready to rock.

position. There were no civilians left in this area (where 1/9 got its name, The Walking Dead) – a ghostly overgrown area of deserted villes, fields, and woods. Donohue was my A-gunner. We were digging in the first night of the patrol and he wasn’t doing his part of the digging. I asked him what was going on and he had trouble answering, but finally said he wasn’t going to make it. He was really sad. I said something like, “Bullshit, man – we’ve been here too long to not make it.” I dug us in and gave him a smoke (though I don’t remember that he smoked – I’m not sure about this – maybe I just wish I’d given him a cigarette). But he was inconsolable. He knew.

Operation Prairie. Real shit, man.

Charles Kemp during Operation Deckhouse. Later that day we had several tanks blown away.

The next day we saddled up and I gave him my machine-gun. Not too much greater love than to give up your gun for another man – because my gun was my hope, my friend, my ticket home. I loved that gun; and I was pretty good with it. Please allow me to introduce myself … We moved out, into a deserted ville. I was walking left flank point and came to a hedgerow of bamboo with a closed gate the only way through. Going through that gate was death – no question about it, there was a mine somewhere with the gate. I was crouched down, trying to figure out a way to stay on line and not be killed when there was a powerful explosion off to my right and someone started yelling, “Corpsman up! Corpsman up!” In a heartbeat I knew Donohue was the explosion.

I took off up the trail to the right and there was a man standing frozen in the trail still shouting for a corpsman and my recollection is that I ran literally up and over him (though how could that be?) and there was Donohue. He was on the ground with both legs blown off. I was beside him and saw that one stump was left with shattered bone sticking out and his guts were spilled out of where the other one had been. He was still alive! He was moaning and moving around a little. I was on my knees beside him and we were receiving fire by then. I was struggling with whether to go ahead and finish him off, because he was definitely going to die and even if he didn’t die, what was the use of going on like that. Then life went out of him. I’m grateful I didn’t kill him. I joined in on the firefight and then

At the Hill Fights (“the first battle of Khe Sanh”)

it was quiet; and then I had to find my gun as it wasn’t by the body. I remember walking through the bushes and trees looking for the gun and there were little pink/grey gobbets of Donohue everywhere and on my face and hands too. The smell. I found one of his feet before I found my gun. The foot was heavy and the gun was out of commission. For some reason this whole deal was the last straw – just too much. I mean, what for?

OR in bunker at Khe Sanh

I pretty much lost hope after that. We had been in the field for about eight months: out on patrol 3-4 days, back to company for a day, out for a night ambush, another day in, and back out on patrol 3-4 days – week after week, month after month and every day, at least one casualty. I realized there were hardly any of the original men left. By then it was a company of mostly fucking new guys and there was nobody I wanted to even talk to.

I was also having weird thoughts. Like maybe I could just walk out of the perimeter a couple of klicks to a ville we’d been through a few times where a one-legged girl lived (lotta one-legged people in them parts) and I could take her an adjustable crutch so she wouldn’t have to walk in the bent and twisted way she walked with her too-short stick of a crutch. A time to heal. Or maybe I could slip out and maybe run across a VC or two and instead of killing each other we could sit down in a clearing somewhere and drink a bottle of whiskey together and have some smokes and talk about our girlfriends. You know, have a good time. Be normal. A time to laugh. These sounded like really good ideas to me and I was thinking about them a lot – all the time. Now I realize that I’ve spent much of the past 40 years taking a crutch to that girl – and I have miles to go before I sleep.

Dinner time

A few weeks after Donohue was killed we were out on a night ambush and ran into another patrol from our company. The word had not been passed that we were going to meet. I was on point and when I saw the first man in the dark – like about 10 feet away, man – I started shooting. I shot the point man of the other patrol in the leg, hip, and chest (lucky for him I was carrying an M-14 instead of the 60); and the man behind me shot him in the chest with a grenade launcher. I remember watching one of my rounds (tracer) hit him and fly off at an angle – which was pretty far out. We were so close that the M-79 round didn’t spin enough to arm, hence didn’t explode and ended up lodged in his neck. Incredibly, he lived. There was an article in Stars and Stripes about the surgery to remove the M-79 round. I don’t remember the name of the man I shot, except that we called him the Red-Headed Mexican and he was a good guy. I remember (before I shot him) him going crazy in Dodge City (Thuy Bo) and charging a VC position right after Zamora was killed. Three helicopters shot down right there that day. 13 KIA and 66 WIA that operation. Keep on rockin in the free world. And now I know his name because a few weeks ago I read a copy of the article about the incident! Raymond Escalera. The article said I shot him only once. There was an investigation and not long after I was transferred out of 1/26.

Sometimes, in a dream
You appear

Thank you Jeff. To everything, Turn! Turn! Turn! there is a season, Turn! Turn! Turn! And a time to every purpose under heaven, Turn! Turn! Turn!

A gunner (like me) at Khe Sanh. Cleaning his weapon. Goddam, good gun, good smokes.

I started at MCRD San Diego, then Infantry Training Regiment & Machine Gun School; Camp Pendleton & las Pulgas for Special Landing Force training. On to Subic Bay & Olongapo (oh, how we partied, like doomed youth) in the Philippines; first landing southern South Vietnam (1st casualties); second landing Deckhouse & Prairie for serious battles (photo from Operation Prairie – yeah, man, it’s real); Hill 55 & Dodge City (snipers, mines, occasional firefights & some battles – see above); Dong Ha & Hill Fights (168 KIA, but it took awhile); also at Con Thien, Gio Linh, and Khe Sanh, though not for long in these last three. If there was a sound track to this section it would be Sympathy for the Devil, maybe Gimme Shelter. We won every battle and beat back very attack, but America lost its will and lost the war. Nice work, so-called “greatest generation.” All told, 13 months

A beautiful sight

in combat (well, you know, not every day) in the two provinces (Quang Nam & Quang Tri) accounting for 25% of the US KIA (I think there are 20 or more provinces in VN); Danang, The World. God. I’m alive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Endless summer, Wyoming, Colorado, grief, love, camping, road trip

Our “endless summer” started in May 2016, though we didn’t name it until May 2017. 
A small section of a very big sky!

…into Wyoming, highway up and down and around in rolling high arid steppe – lots of sage, scattered livestock, a few herds of antelope, into a fertile river valley with green fields, herds of livestock, the majestic mountains in the near distance, the Snowy Range coming into view, coming closer to Centennial, where Jean came deeper into herself. 

Jean’s work, 1970s
What does it mean to be with a woman like you – who opens me to my tears – who opens me to deep awe and joy. Driving across the Wyoming high country, across the BIG SKY country feeling as if we’d taken something psychedelic – so high and so good. “It’s good to have been high before, because now we know what’s happening now.” 
The dream is reality.

Willows!

In the Snowy Range
You told me I help open places in you – as you help open places in me.
That song you sang – “Wy-Wy-WY-oming.”
We stayed with Helen in Golden and with Kenny and Diane in Silverthorne. Good shopping trip with Kenny. Wonderful hospitality from nice people. Colorado and into Wyoming after a stop at Cataract Lake.

Centennial, Wyoming. Population 270. Jean called the woman who bought her house 40 years ago to see if we could come by and walk past the house to the river. The woman told Jean that she was out of town, but the back door was unlocked, so we could just come on in. And we did. And we walked the 30-40 feet from the back door to the river running fast (we heard a big fish break water). Standing there in the cold rain in this place of tremendous growth for Jean.

In the Snowy Range
We spent the night at the Old Corral Hotel, Peet’s coffee and fruit and yogurt for breakfast in our room. 

The highway (opened yesterday) up out of Centennial into the Snowy Mountains. I first saw these beautiful mountains about 1963 off in the distance on the way to somewhere in Wyoming with my friend, Renn Fenton***. I’ve seen them in the distance 5 or 6 times since; and now, driving into the mountains through pine trees dusted with snow and a little snow on the ground, now more, stopping the car down a smaller side road and getting out to be in the snow surrounded by trees with the snow too deep to walk in. Driving up and up with deep drifts on the side of the road and the snow coming down and at the top of the pass the snow is coming down sideways, stinging our faces – Yes!

The Bighorns

The endless arching of this endless summer from Berkeley to Mendocino to Dallas to Santa Cruz to San Francisco to Vancouver to the golden afternoon of Big Sur to Marcia’s house to Indian Rock to The Temple to Flagging to the Edge of the World, to Yosemite (walking with faeries in the forest) to the beach the seashore the waterfront to La Honda to Esalen(!) to massage class to New York to Spain to our beautiful life in Berkeley to Colorado into Wyoming into the place where Jean became so much and arching across the beautiful Snowy Range! This isthe train. Here is a moment on a Mendocino beach that captures when the endless summer started.

At the beginning of the Endless
Summer – Mendocino beach
Driving out of the Snowy Range it was a short drive to Saratoga, to visit the hot springs there. The Saratoga Hot Springs hotel was overpriced and the restaurant mediocre, but we had a great time along the river and in the room. (More later on the municipal hot springs – a much better option than the “resort.”)

From Saratoga, we drove north – first to Medicine Bow for breakfast with bikers (and not 50 year old divorced guy “bikers” with do-rags) – and onward to the Sheridan area to visit Jean’s friends, Katie and Hal for a few days. We hung out on their ranch, then drove up into the hills, parked, and walked along a dirt road lined with lupines. Hal forged ahead with the dogs (Dan and Marty) and Katie and Jean walked through the lupines and I wandered along in my own world. Lunch was at a café in Bighorn. After lunch we went to a “roping” – a cowboy Memorial Day get-together and a birthday party and so there we were, standing along the corral fence with the “headers” and “heelers” roping the steers and the other people sitting on their horses and a few along the fence.

Sheridan roping
And THEN, it was time for the “boil” – a huge pot of boiling seasoned water, with potatoes, sausage, corn, and shrimp – plus bread and slaw and macaroni salad and watermelon and rhubarb (harvested yesterday) pie and coconut cream pie and a humongous tub of ice cream and nice people – though most are probably farther to the right than I am to the left.
A great Memorial Day.
At the “boil” after roping
Memorial Day 2017
From Sheridan we headed south to Thermopolis for a short time in their municipal hot springs, then on to Lander (home of the National Outdoor Leadership School – NOLS). Good times and good food in this pretty Wyoming town.
We drove the few miles from Lander to Sinks Canyon where we camped in a state park. This was Jean’s first night in a tent in 40 years. Very windy and rained for awhile – a great night.
(“Grief is the final act of love, and recovery from it is the necessary betrayal on which the future depends. There is only this one life, and we are the ones who are here to live it.” From NYT review of Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy by Sheryl Sandberg and Adam Grant.)

We talk of our spouses and the terrible grief. Driving up the highway across the Wyoming steppe and through the mountains, singing Grateful Dead and Beatles songs together – Here Comes the Sun! Such an emotional trip. Tears just beneath the surface… Attics of My Life – not about a person as much as self… attics = past – I laughed with delight.
In the tent

Onward back across this magnificent big sky country to Saratoga, where we stayed in Hacienda motel on the edge of this small town and drove five minutes to the municipal hot springs – free, sandy bottom, convivial scene. Back at the cowboy motel we rested then went to the Wolf Hotel for a prime rib dinner.

Vedauwoo campsite

Continuing south we again camped, this time in the Vedauwoo area – we had a great campsite among the hoodoos. Our nearest neighbors were a hippie family on their way to the Rainbow Gathering in a great bus. The man and I were talking about an Incredible String Band song quote on the side of bus (“We love you, but Jesus loves you the best”) and he and I sang a few lines together. Later I recalled that I sang that song to Keo as she was dying last January.

Camping with Jean was great. We were comfortable in our warm sleeping bag and tent, enjoyed our camping food, and had good times hiking around and watching sunsets.
From the Vedauwoos we drove to Fort Collins to spend the night, but it was too cityish, so we drove into the mountains and rented a cabin along the Fall River in Estes Park. This was a great move – clean mountain air, rushing river, and… a bear walked by less than 20 yards from Jean!!! This happened a day after we talked about our spirit animals (mountain lion for me; bear for Jean)!
Sunset Vedauwoo

In the morning we took off up Trail Ridge Road across the Rockies. It’s been more than 50 years since I was there and Jean had never made it across that pass at 12,183 feet. Wow! Surrounded by tundra and snowy peaks and the thin air and clear skies. Now over the pass toward Winter Park and then Golden to spend the night at Helen’s (and her dogs, Louie and Stella).

Jean and Helen were talking about a car we saw with a bumper sticker – Women for Trump. Jean said, “Don’t they realize their bodies are sacred.”
Denver airport and flying from one paradise (Wyoming/Colorado) to another (Berkeley/Bay Area).
Bear outside our cabin. Photo by Karen

*** Renn Fenton and I lived together in a cabin in Estes Park and climbed in Estes and the Needles in South Dakota. While Jean and I were traveling in Wyoming and Colorado, I told her a little about Renn. When we got home I googled him. I discovered that he died in 2007. Here is something from an internet forum: “I am a travel nurse who has taken care of Renn while he was in the hospital. I wanted all of you to know that I have felt privileged to be one who got to spend time caring for Renn during his last days. It was clear to me the first time I laid eyes on Renn that he was quite a character – when I googled him, I found this site and saw a comment that made me want to respond. I was actually able to “break through” with Renn and get him to talk back to me and say my name. I will forever remember his vivid blue eyes and “cat that got the canary” smile. I just wanted all of his friends to know that there are several of his nurses who have appreciated Renn for being the kind of person who makes this world interesting and feel honored to have cared for your friend.” 

Renn’s country – Jean’s country – my country
 

Dancing at Flagging, on the train, congruencies

May
Jean at Summer of Love installation at de Young Museum
Temple door

Jean and I and David and Charles went to a party with about 200 people in a meadow in a park on a beautiful Sunday (Mother’s Day) afternoon. (This is the same meadow where David and I had scattered Leslie’s ashes.) Today, the music was feel-good EDM and we were feeling good, feeling an irrepressible urge to dance – so there we were, dancing at the edge of the meadow, then into the forest, back into the meadow, and into a redwood grove. Yeah, this is the way it should be. I danced with Jean, her friend Courtney, my son, my son’s husband, and random people. It was more “cozy” (as Jean said) than euphoric. We enjoy open and intimate connections every day, and a fair amount of magic in our daily lives – we talked about how this day and its magical experiences are part of living the dream; about our shared commitment to that reality. We walked out of the park, Uber to train, and train home. Really tired the next day, but felt good.

~ ~ ~
Uncoupled couple on the train. Riding the N Judah train from Embarcadero to Duboce Park. A couple got on and stood, each one at opposite sides of the door, standing facing away from one another, staring with flat affect into their separate spaces, never speaking, just staring, unhappy looking.
This is the train – better to be alone with one’s memories I think, than uncoupled like that.
David at Flagging in the Park party

This is the train – riding through/within each precious unrepeatable moment.

This is the train – I want you to put on your pretty summer dress.
This is the train – face time, our faces inches apart, holding you, watching you fall asleep, watching you sleep, forcing myself to stay awake for each precious unrepeatable moment in the firelight, in the dark, in the light.
This is the train. 
~ ~ ~
Lunch with David, 3-4 days/week. How sweet is that! 
~ ~ ~
Jean and I talking of our beloved spouses.
~ ~ ~
Stairs in Berkeley home

Hippie Lady. Our home is sacred space. Living consciously. Flowers everywhere inside and outside the house. Uncomplicated relationship. Free. Lying together, face to face, looking into one another’s eyes – our “face-time.” Recognizing the magical moments of congruency.

~ ~ ~
I discovered that you were making notes about our relationship. And they were the same sort of notes I was making! Things that we both love or congruencies or similarities…
In common/likes/congruencies
Dogs
Creating – art (JC) and hospice (CK)
Being outside
Nature
Sex
Love – loving and being loved
Oh yeah – Jean in redwoods in AIDS Memorial Grove

Grief

Rock and roll
Dancing
We’re alive!
Feminism
Practical politics
Fairies
Walking
The Bay Area, especially Berkeley
Pleasing the other
The importance of the relationship – recognition of the beauty
Working on the relationship
Romance
What we see as beautiful
Travel
Sunsets
Celebration of hip culture
Living fully/following our dreams/visions
Van
Respect
Acceptance
People (JC) – Humanity (CK)
CK in garden in Berkeley

Art (JC) – Service (CK)

~ ~ ~
Dallas: Humid warm night with the fragrance of old fashioned four o’clocks heavy in the night.


–>

Spain: Barcelona, Granada, Valle de Abdalajis, Cordoba, Barcelona

Valle de Abdalajis
We flew Newark to Barcelona in Delta coach. It was a seven hour flight and we were glad we’d paid extra for a little extra legroom. Aeroport bus to the center of the city, then taxi to the Air BnB where we met Gemma, the woman we were renting from She was still cleaning the apartment after previous renters, so we dropped our luggage off and walked to the nearby Cathedral Familia Sagrada, hung out in a park, had something to eat, went back to apartment and settled in.
La Familia Sagruda
Thursday notes: Sitting in a coffee shop near the university, soft guitar music, watching all the pretty people walking by, decent salad, good espresso, feeling good with Jean. We visited the Catedral de Barcelona (more traditional than the far-out La Familia). There were many shrines within the cathedral, some old tombs (from 1500s), and a realistic wax figure of a priest in a confessional. When I leaned in to look closer, he blinked! It was a living person, not wax – talk about startled!
We went to La Familia Sagrada, a strange edifice designed by Antonio Gaudi, the penultimate Barcelona architect. The cathedral has been under construction since 1882 and is scheduled for completion in 2026
Walked to Barrio Gotic, a maze of narrow streets, upscale shops, a whole tourist scene. Jean went into the Picasso Museum and I hung out on the streets. Got a text from Kristina, who has passed her state boards (NCLEX) – congratulations!
Las feministas 💖
Walking back to our apartment and up ahead we hear chanting, cheering, lots of people. Checking it out – las feministas! Into the flow now, joining in long enough to be able to say we were there. It was a happy and intense time – yet another life bookend for me – thinking of Leslie and when she bought the early Our Bodies/Our Selves at the Whole Earth Store in Austin; how in those early days feminism seemed radical (it was, actually); how she was an avowed feminist until the end of her life; how she put her beliefs into action, working with and lifting up women all her life. We were raised in the 1950s, raised ourselves in the 1960s and now, 50 years later, in a march with Jean, another serious feminist! Fortunate me! Days later, walking through an area of Barcelona called, “El Clot,” we picked up a flyer that said, “El Clot esta FEMINISTA o no sera.” Yes!
At dinner in a neighborhood-oriented tapas café we watched part of a soccer semifinals game. Barcelona won and the café erupted, as did the streets – honking, cheering, fireworks. Great fun.

On to Granada – we missed our flight, and got another flight. After several misadventures, we got to the Hotel Leo for our first night in Granada, and then moved to an apartment. The taxi to the apartment couldn’t take us all the way because of a religious parade. So we hiked quite a ways and when we were in the middle of the parade, a parade marshal let us through and we kept on hiking and hiking up narrow cobblestone streets until finally reaching our apartment at #90 San Juan de los Reyes.

La feminista; mi corazon

 

The apartment was incredible. First floor entry, second floor two bedrooms and bathroom, and third floor living room, kitchen, and veranda. From the bedroom and from the veranda, there were stunning views of Alhambra. And at night, when the fortress/palace/mosque was lighted, our bed and we were bathed in the light.
Our tickets to see Alhambra were on a cold and rainy day and so there we were again, walking in misty gardens all wet with rain. Happy days. Alhambra was spectacular, though somewhat crowded. We could see our apartment across the little river running beneath the ramparts.
By now, I’d lost track of regular writing.
While we were traveling, we observed the date of Leslie’s passing, Leslie’s birthday, the anniversary of Jean’s husband’s passing, and Jean’s wedding anniversary – March is quite a month, grief-wise! On Leslie’s birthday, Jean asked me what time it was. I said I didn’t know and so Jean checked her phone. As she opened the phone, the time clicked over from 7:46 to 7:47 – 747 being the number of greatest meaning to Leslie. Hi Leslie! Sigh.
Our bedroom in Granada

Leslie and Jean are different in some ways and similar in others. One profound similarity is that both of these women do something I call believing in people. And through the power of this belief (and other factors), somehow, some people are lifted up, sometimes literally saved. Once again, I ask, how can this be? How can I have ended up with these women!?

Granada was a high point of the trip: our incredible apartment and view, narrow cobblestone streets, little bus up to (what we called) hippie hill, street musicians, good food, good Spanish wine, romantic everything. I actually had not thought that Spain would be any more or less romantic than our usual life. But it was very romantic.
Our street in Granada

We rented a car in Granada and drove to Antequera and from there through the countryside to the Valle de Abdalajis, near one of the “white villages” – so-called because all the houses are painted white. The drive was beautiful, though to me (the driver), stressful because of the difficulties finding our way. But after some challenges, we found where we were spending the night – at Maggie and Elio’s house. We were able to walk into Elio’s olive tree grove – several acres of trees!

We drove up above the village for a lovely time along a deserted road. Dinner in Antequera was unusual – including an orange and salted cod salad, rabbit and garlic stew, a sausage potato and egg dish, and bread with olives and olive oil.
From the valley we drove to Cordoba, where we stayed at a hotel half a block from the entrance to la Mezquita de Cordoba. Once again, we were in narrow, cobblestone streets, sidewalk cafes, and among friendly people.
The Hope of a Condemned Man III.
Miro finished this on the day the man was executed

From Cordoba, we drove back to Granada, where we stayed one night at the Leo Hotel, then flew back to Barcelona. We stayed at another Air BnB in an urban neighborhood, nice, very quiet.

We walked from our apartment to El Clot, a transitional middle class and art-oriented neighborhood. Nice espresso at a nice community center, where we picked up the flyer that said, “El Clot esta FEMINISTA o no sera.” Yes! I read a few days ago that at the University of Texas approximately 1 in 7 women has been raped. The president “just grab ‘em by the pussy” of the united states is a misogynist sexual predator leading a republican party that despises women, except as sex objects – in case anyone thinks feminism isn’t an immediate issue.
Enduring Granada memory –
a little psychedelic band

I had an epiphany on a visit to the Joan Miro Museum. I was looking at large triptych titled, The Hope of a Condemned Man. I learned that “Miró painted this triptych in reference to the hope of grace as he prayed for the life of the young anarchist Salvador Puig Antich, finally executed by garotte” (from Wikipedia). I understood then that my life of seeking justice for the dispossessed and underserved could be connected to art. This mattered a lot to me, since Jean has dedicated her life to art.

Easy days and nights in Barcelona. Several wonderful dinners at a small upscale restaurant, Vivant. These are the days!


–>

Home in Berkeley

We flew Delta business class from Barcelona to NYC (great flight), then Virgin America NYC to SFO (poor flight). Ahhh, back to Paradise (Berkeley).

 

 
 

New York opening, reception, walking in NYC, dinner, Hoboken, Red Book, Austin and Waco

Jean’s work on right; her friend, Janet’s on left

We went to an opening featuring one of Jean’s pieces at the Museum of Arts and Design in New York. We got there a little late (straight from flight) and Jean went in to the museum to find out what we could do with our packs, etc. While I was outside the museum with all our stuff on the sidewalk, one of Jean’s friends took a fall in the doorway (thanks to an impatient person pushing past him). His hip was fractured in the fall/the shove.

Inside the museum it was a scene – lots of people, some of Jean’s colleagues, friends from Berkeley and San Francisco, artists, some people wearing art clothes, some people who’ve been around for awhile, like Fayette from the Cockettes (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Cockettes). A nice time. I enjoyed seeing Jean’s work and other pieces, like Wavy Gravy’s jumpsuit, a dress by Gretchen Fetchen, and other “hippie couture.” (Who would have thought that there would be hippie couture – but there was and is.)
We met Jean’s sister, Susan, and her husband John at Eately for a good Italian swordfish lunch. It was wonderful to meet Susan and John.
CK, JC, DK, CB at reception

 

Highlight: David and Charles came to NY for the opening and had a lovely champagne reception for Jean in their suite at the W Hotel. What an affirmation for Jean, for me, for our relationship (including the relationship between David and Jean; between all of us – Jean, David, Charles, me). It was a beautiful time!
Jean Cacicedo: art is not for judging – look – like – don’t like – no difference.
At NYU gallery

Jean and I walked for quite a ways in the city on a cold, cold day. Wonderful coffee shop at Highline Hotel, cold streets, a walkway where an El had been, so cold – “I’m so high!” “Life is too short to be anywhere but here.” On to Greenwich Village, walking along the 4th Street of Dylan’s Positively 4th Street. On to the Stonewall Inn where gay people took to the streets/rioted in the battle for liberation. On to Washington Square and NYU’s Grey Gallery featuring work from avant-garde artists and galleries from the 1950s and 60s. On to meet David and Charles back at the Stonewall Inn for a glass of wine and on to dinner at Chumly’s, an old speak-easy where Hemingway, Anais Nin, F. Scott and Zelda, Steinbeck, E.E. Cummings and a host of other writers hung out. We sat where Simone de Beauvoir sat.

We caught a cab back to the hotel. The driver was driving aggressively and hit another cab a glancing blow (NY, what an aggressive place). When the guy pulled over so he and the other driver could jaw at one another we all just got out and walked away. In a few minutes the guy drove up next to us, wanting money. We gave him the approximate fare and moved on.
Wanderweird’s work

From my notes: we made love in the morning and again at night, then lying in bed singing Van Morrison songs together. I held her and Jean cried for joy; we cried for joy.

More notes: at the Highline Hotel coffee shop I was suffused with gratitude – “This is the only way to live.” When I’m really old, read this to me. Remind me that I lived as fully as a person can live. I’ve loved and been loved by two incredible women (a warrior princess and a shaman princess – really). I’ve laid in warm beds and traveled the world and looked upon my son and practiced mercy and walked in misty gardens and run across the fields and made love in the meadow and danced in the sun and under the stars and so much more. I’ve lived and loved and been loved.
CK, beast of burden at NYC Port Authority

More notes: at the Grey Gallery there was a window full of post-it notes. Jean took a random photo and later when she enlarged the photo, here is what was in the center: “… the greatest of these is love.”

Saturday morning we packed, I went up to say goodbye to David, we took a taxi to the Port Authority, then bus 273 to Hoboken, and got off almost directly in front of Jean’s niece Anne’s women’s clothing store. Anne’s son, Arthur, and Jean and I walked down the street to a Cuban restaurant where we had a lot of food and fun. After lunch, Jean caught a bus back to the store and Arthur and I went to a grocery store, then started the trek back to Anne’s. It was 19 – 19! And we were freezing. I was carrying two bags of groceries, no gloves, and my coat wouldn’t stay buttoned. Nevertheless, we had a great time, laughing along the sidewalk and Arthur talking about his Dad.
Back at Anne’s store we went for another walk, this time to Anne’s home a few blocks away. Arthur took Jean and me up to Anne’s room on the third floor of her three story brownstone. Cool. We’re in Hoboken now! Then Beatrice, Anne’s 6 year old daughter, and Anne came home, and then Keith, Anne’s BF. Nice dinner, good times.
Jean and Beatrice – Hoboken

Sunday we had what I call “a Berkeley breakfast” of fruit, yogurt, and toast and nut butter. Then a great trip to the grocery store for Jean, Beatrice, and I to buy chicken for Jean to grill and supplies for me to make pear tarts.

When you hear the music
Ringing in your soul
And the feeling in your heart
Just grows and grows
And once again, I’m ready to die, complete.
I baked the tarts with frangipani – oh man, so good. I felt happy and homey with the children and baking and Jean and Anne and Keith. Jean grilled chicken and we fixed salad for another nice family dinner.
And I realized this was March 5, the second anniversary of Leslie’s passing. I thought it was 3/3 at the latest. Two years. Waves of sadness. Ahhh, Leslie, you’re always with me in my heart. You’re my reference. Anne said, “Are you okay?” “No.” I went up to our room and sat and felt and thought back on those last difficult, beautiful months and the beautiful years that went before.
By Wanderweird

In the morning we had breakfast and finished packing. Good Lord, how did our stuff get up the narrow staircase to the third floor! Walked back to Anne’s store, and Jean and Anne went somewhere while I took a nap on the couch. Lunch at the Cuban restaurant, Uber to airport, and we’re off to Barcelona.
—————-

From notes made a month or so ago
I looked for this book for a long time in the 1970s-1990s, but it still had not been published. A few evenings ago, we were in a small bookstore in Berkeley, and I asked the owner if she had any books by Jung. She said, “Yes. Would you like to see the Red Book?” “Yes(!!!)” And so she brought out this “reader’s edition” of the fabled Red Book (written between 1913-1930) – the basis of Carl Jung’s later works/his life’s work. Later she went into the back room and brought out a copy of the big original, complete with Jung’s paintings and drawings. Wow!
On the way from San Antonio to Austin (thanks Barbara, for the comfortable hospitality and fellowship!) to Dallas, we stopped in Waco to visit the Baylor campus for about an hour. Jean got a phone call from her sister and we stopped for her to talk. She sat on the grass to talk and I and I lay down beside her enjoying the sun and watching students and faculty walking by (I was on the Baylor faculty for 20 years). Later we realized that the whole time we were there we were the only people we saw sitting or lying on the lawn/commons. This, on a class day, on a warmish (50s-60s) spring day at a big university. My oh my.
Somewhere else, someone said, “I need to love: I need to be loved.”

Beautiful Christmas, Phana, days into days, a day on Mount Tamalpais, Esalen couples massage, How to Survive a Plague, Book About Love, Massage class notes

Jean on Mount Tamalpais
It was a beautiful Christmas with Jean, David, and Charles, despite a death in the family. This Christmas was a time to enjoy and to savor vs. endure as in the previous year (and previous six for Jean). Jean gave me an art coat and a book on love and I gave her a lithograph and a book. A time to be born. I flew to Dallas Christmas afternoon (see below) and Jean flew in a few days later and we celebrated the New Year together. Though we were a little under the weather it was a good time.  
Amidst the joy, sadness. I got the call two days before Christmas that Phana had passed away. We spent a lot of time together over the past one and a half years – long, long days of chemotherapy, hospitals and doctor’s offices in Houston and Dallas, endless hours in the car. Phana was young and in some ways, unfulfilled, yet she went through illness and death with bravery and equanimity – and so fulfilled that last thing: an honorable death.
David and Jake, CK, Phana – Ocean Beach, August 2015
David and I flew to Dallas on Christmas day for the funeral the next day. He spoke at the service. A sad day.
Back in Berkeley, back home, we were in a time of transition, which can be difficult. But that’s the nature of things – changes, changes. (Looking out of the bus window going past the Berkeley Art Museum I see a young man holding an older man sagging in his arms.)
Days rolling into days. These are the days… of the endless summer… days upon days in Paradise. Magical mornings – waking sometime between 6 and 7, coffee in bed, watching the astounding changes of colors and clouds in the sky through the double doors with the Bay below and Mt. Tamalpais in the distance, and out of bed around the crack of 9. A bowl of fruit and yogurt with toast and almond butter for breakfast.
Grateful Dead Night at Ashkanaz – where we go dancing
Most days I go into the City to see David: Number 7 bus to downtown Berkeley, BART to Embarcadero, MUNI to Castro, walking the stairs of Harvey Milk Plaza past the rainbow escalator to the corner of Market and Castro. Walking down the avenue to meet David for lunch (Starbelly, Harvey’s, the Vietnamese place, Kasa, the usual places). Life unfolding – ahhhh – so beautiful!
Today coming up out of the subway with Bombay Calling (It’s a Beautiful Day) on my headphones flashing back to being in a little room in the Bombay airport with Leslie very sick and there was nothing to do but give her water and watch the cockroaches crawling on the wall… when you’re in a dream, time passes so slowly, time passes so slowly, open up your heart…

Back to MUNI, BART, Berkeley bus, home to Jean’s house hanging high above the San Francisco Bay.

Sunset over the Golden Gate (from deck)

(In the past months I’ve spent more time looking at the sky than ever before in my life.)
In the evening, sunset, a glass of wine before dinner, and after dinner, tea and a bowl. Last night we “made hand love” – just hand to hand – for an hour or more. These are the days!!!
Two-three times/week we have dinner or otherwise meet up with some of Jean’s group (tribe?) of friends.
Mt. Tam., Pacific Ocean
On a beautiful January day (1/31) we drove to the Pacific side of Mount Tamalpais. We walked along the Bolinas Ridge Trail, then on unnamed trails along the sensuous rounded hills rolling off the mountain to a place in the sun and trees overlooking the sea on one side and the hills on the other side. In the sun, in the wind, in the golden afternoon, on the soft hilltop talking of love, of people we love, of regrets, now dancing in the sun, embracing. Oh! As the sun began to set and the cool rolled in we walked – a long walk – back to the car. San Francisco rising like Atlantis in the far distance. Hail Atlantis! It was an epic drive home. Neither of us felt like eating, so we took a long deep bath together in the warm candle-lit bathroom.
Charles and Jean 
“The best days are the ones when I look around at all these people in my life, these people in my heart, and I think, This is it.” 
We got a massage table for Christmas and have each been getting a long massage at least once every week. We spent last weekend (2/4-5) in little hippie town in Marin County at a Esalen couples massage workshop. There were two other couples signed up, but both cancelled, so it was just Jean and me with the instructor, Nora. Somewhere along the line we both realized Nora is a master teacher. We had a beautiful and very valuable experience, learning and practicing some basics of Esalen massage.
Saturday night (after the first day of class), we went to a dinner party at Linda and Frank’s art house. To me, the dinner/gathering was an installation within an installation. Someone at the party asked why we took the course/what is this massage about (those were more or less the questions). Good question:

San Francisco in the far distance from Mt. Tam
  • Esalen massage is about the connection between the person giving and the person getting the massage… loving, expressing love, receiving love, uniting.
  • It’s about feeling good deep inside, a sense of well-being.
  • Relaxing.
  • Esalen massage is about opening to self, connecting, experiencing one’s own (and another’s) body and mind.


Notes from the class are at the end of this post.
I’ve read two books in the past month. How to Survive a Plague by David France is an account of the AIDS epidemic and the appalling lack of response on the part of the government, healthcare system, and society to the suffering and death of gay men – and the magnificent efforts of AIDS activists such as the ACT-UP group to force a response.
The book is a triumph of love and strength.
I lived in the Castro for about two years, first with Leslie and then alone. I loved it. I was surrounded by people hated and attacked for being – and their individual and community response? They take the word “gay” to describe themselves and their culture. They dance. They hold together. They create. They BE. We be. 

The Castro

Michael Callen (one of the early AIDS activists), on Christmas day, 1993:
“… just repeats like a mantra: life is good. Life is good.”
“I realize some people could look at my life and say, ‘Oh it was so sad. He died of AIDS and isn’t that tragic.’ But what I want to come through is that even after all the pain and all the torture, and even having AIDS, I can honestly say that being gay is the greatest gift I was ever given. I wouldn’t change it for the world.”
When all his friends had spoken their farewells that afternoon, Callen signed his last will and testament and then turned up the dial on his morphine drip, sliding into a deep and lasting sleep.
The other book is A Book About Love by Jonah Lehrer, given to me by Jean. It started out as kind of a feel-good book, then turned into something deeper. Ultimately it was an extravagant affirmation of living life and loving to the fullest. Loving in the face of joy, suffering, work, getting tired of it all, in the face of death, in need, in strength and weakness, for better, for worse, in life.

Meeting of minds: Marcia and Jean in Marcia’s garden

“The best days are the ones when I look around at all these people in my life, these people in my heart, and I think, This is it.”  



Esalen couples massage notes, taken at Nora Matten’s class, 2/4-5/2017 
(website: http://www.noramatten.com/)
Have supplies ready, warm room, music, lighting.
Begin with talking about intentions, connecting with the other person, dancing each part of the body, mindfulness meditation.
Start – back
Bolster under ankles.


From beginning, work to relax the person.
LEs and UEs, use deeper strokes except with varicosities, injuries, etc.
Up-strokes are more invigorating (increased force) and down-strokes are more calming (decreased force).
Avoid surprises, be intentional re everything. Commit to the stroke.
Work with one foot back (sometimes), heart open, 
Come into myself, including awareness of pain, discomfort…
3-fold towel under shoulders diagonally
Introducing myself… Slowly lower hands to lower back and behind the heart. Not doing, just being. Breathe. Breathe with the person.
There is a beginning (pause, rocking, long strokes), middle (detail work), end (long strokes, pause).
Jean: Push – rocking.
Now “long, flowing strokes… signature of Esalen massage” – entire body, including head. SLOW. Always come back to this – integrating.
Pause, still integrating.
Stay comfortable.
After long and slow, pull sheet partially down, then fold to center of body.
Oil hands and arms – will use both.
Start shoulders, back… three dimensional, circular… follow the 3-D landscape. Reach over and pull up on side. Commit to the stroke – complete, e.g., off toes and fingers. Go slow. Use forearms – for increased weight.
Sit with sheet over leg to work on shoulder.
Hands, inclu ROM


Then bring arm forward to rest on stool.

Photo from the showers at Esalen, beside massage rooms

Always come back to the long strokes.
Head now or after pulling sheet up.
LEs, inclu toes. ROM.
Draw sheet slowly up. Stroke on top of sheet.
Come to child’s pose. Lift sheet so can turn over.
Face up
Adjust bolster to under knees, towel under head.
Long and slow.
Work on shoulder and chest.
Pause
Go under shoulder, embracing.
Arms, hands (interlock fingers), rotate wrist.
Long and slow
Pause

Legs
Finish long and slow all the way off feet
Head last
Roll with hands
Face, brows, easy on temple, ears, occiput, scalp
Use towel to roll head side to side – towel over eyes.
Finish long and slow all the way off feet.